Time is Running Out
by I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar
Summary: In a future world where your life is a countdown of numbers on your wrist, unto a couple befalls an unexpected tragedy. In Time AU.


In any other life, Stiles could happily say that time was on his side. In this one?

"Ugh. Seriously? _Five_ hours? Wasn't it three hours just last week?"

"That was _last_ week, kid. You either pay the time or you don't ride. Simple."

Stiles glares at the bus driver.

"Ha. Lucky, I have enough. Let's see, I have..." He pulls up his sleeve and checks his wrist, swallowing against the tight coil in his throat when the green numbers present themselves. _W-What. _"Three hours and twenty minutes," he lets out weakly, tone un-believing.

The bus driver whistles sharply, shaking his head. "_Geez_. I'm sorry. I wish I could help, I really do. But it's the law."

Stiles deliberately ignores the sad looks of sympathy people on the bus are giving him as he carelessly thanks the driver for his "time" and leaves.

"I'm going to get there. I _have_ to," he says to himself, watching the bus drive away. He knows it will take two hours out of his life to make it if he runs. He timidly looks down at his life and sees the numbers, closing his eyes and letting go of a shaky breath.

**00:00:00:03:15:04**

It's enough but not enough at the same time. Ha. Time. _Fuck_. Why did time have to go so damn fast.

"Don't panic, don't panic. You have time. You're going to be fine. Heh. Rhyming in such a dire situation. Of _course_," he groans. He slips his phone out from his jean pocket and starts typing out a text, fingers trembling as he hits send.

To **Der**

_Didn't take the bus. Bus costs 5 hrs now, can you believe it? On my way though. Gonna leg it to ya bby. See you soon._

He leaves out the bit about his time running out. He doesn't want to worry Derek. Scientists proved that stress affected your time and could impact it drastically. Something he won't risk happening to Derek.

With Derek in mind, he starts jogging. He's not a horrible runner, he can do this. He can make it, easy. All he has to do is keep moving and don't stop.

* * *

><p>To <strong>Der<strong>

_Didn't take the bus. Bus costs 5 hrs now, can you believe it? On my way though. Gonna leg it to ya bby. See you soon._

Derek reads the message, laughing with a giant grin on his face as he texts back.

To **Stiles**

_Better get here soon. Don't want to waste your time on anything other than me, do you? ;) _

Little did Derek know, but those were the last words Stiles would ever hear from him.

* * *

><p>It's been exactly five hours and Stiles still isn't there.<p>

Derek paces, clenching and unclenching his hands anxiously as he waits. His palms are sweaty, hair dishevelled and messy from tugging at it in frustration and worry.

Stiles hadn't replied to his text. No text back. Not even a call. _Nothing_.

"This is ridiculous. Stiles, where the hell are you?" he huffs, grouchily kicking the pavement and scuffing his shoe. He'd bought a bouquet of red roses. Now they're dead and dried up, their petals drooping and slowly fading into a sickly brown.

After waiting another twenty minutes he decides to start walking over to Stiles' place. While on his way, he begins to try and think of reasons why Stiles didn't arrive.

Maybe his phone had died and he'd wanted to reply to Derek's text so badly that he'd ran back home to charge it, only to forget by accident and end up falling asleep.

Derek snickers to himself as he remembers that yes, that had happened before.

He's still dwelling on absurd but slightly comical reasons as to why Stiles ended up being a no-show when he spots something up ahead.

"What the..." he mutters to himself, confused. He's too far away to see what it is exactly, but from this distance it looks like a lump on the ground. As he gets closer, it starts to materialize more clearly. Begins to look like a person.

Wait. Wh-

A _person? _

He speeds up, feet pulling him into a run as he gets closer and closer and-

-and finally sees.

"_N-N-No_," Derek chokes out.

The bouquet of roses falls out of his grasp, petals raining to the ground.

Derek feels his heart shatter, honestly believes that the wilted rose petals scattered across the concrete are the remnants; tiny, delicate little pieces.

Because that's Stiles. That's _his_ _Stiles_ laying there, limp in the middle of the road, limbs splayed out just like how he usually sleeps.

_Maybe he is sleeping, _he tries to convince himself as he drops to his knees beside the boy, whole body shaking as he reaches out and pulls up Stiles' sleeve.

The bleak grey numbers that stare back at him send shivers through his spine, numbing any hope he had.

**00:00:00:00:00:00**

Sobs come freely then. They force their way out of him, leave him breathless as he clutches Stiles' lifeless body to his chest. He presses his wrist against Stiles', trying in vain to give away some of his eleven months, but knows it's no use.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles. I wasn't there. I'm sorry," he whimpers, tears stinging his eyes, hot and damp on his cheeks. He strokes his hand over Stiles' face (closed eyelids, fanned lashes and a soft, peaceful expression), smudging a wet drop that lands on the pale skin, wiping it away.

He sits there for a time-less amount of hours, holding the love of his life in his arms, crying. He only notices the phone later, when the night is coming to an end and the sun is lighting up the sky in gentle, vibrant shades of colour.

The phone's screen is cracked, frozen on a message that had been typed, but not sent.

To **Der**

_I would't dream of wasting it on anything else_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>This was painful to write but I watched In Time tonight and the idea hit me. I'm so sorry.<strong>_

_**(The wrist numbers go in the order of years-months-days-hours-minutes-seconds. I know in the movie it goes years-weeks-days-hours-minutes-seconds but I wanted to change that for this. Also the wrist clock in the movie is shown to be 0000:00:0:00:00:00 but I changed it to 00:00:00:00:00:00.)**_


End file.
